Tales of the Crusade
by Zaynzibar
Summary: A group of heroes from all walks of life are tasked with taking down Arthas Menethil: the Lich King. They must get there, first. - This is based on what I think it would be like for a raid group to tackle the Lich King. It is based on characters that my friends and myself play, and the way I imagine them interacting with each other.


There were ten of them in total: a warrior, a mage, a death knight, a warlock, a priest, a druid, a hunter, a paladin, a shaman, and a rogue.

In the icy darkness that begun to fall at sunset in Northrend, nine of them were gathered around a fire, trying desperately to not freeze.  
"By the light, it is colder than I've ever experienced..." the paladin, Samuel, muttered, before stretching out his hand, and trying to allow the light to bless his allies. As they were sitting on desecrated, scourged ground, it wasn't possible.

"I have never felt this before," the old druid, Whutrin, chimed in, "the earth below our very feat is hollow. Empty. Somehow... Devoid of life.

The rogue, a lovely young lass by the name of Tirasondrael sighed. "Could you give it a rest? You've been saying that all day."

The warrior, known only as Gilroy, offered his own opinion. "It is with him forever. Can you really blame him?"

"No. I feel it as well. The light cannot touch this place," this was the priest, Tishe, who had kept mostly to herself throughout the journey.

Though it didn't affect him, the warlock nodded in agreeance.  
"I imagine it would be hard." The young gnome, Hrydah, looked at the other gnome, the mage Bintar, who shrugged.

"The arcane energy is... Omnipotent," Bintar said.

"Balance can be observed, regardless of one's location. It is not difficult." That was the female draenei shaman Auchnaea, who still felt a little uncomfortable in this word.

The hunter could be heard quietly chuckling. "Ah dinnae need any o' yer fency megics or nuttin," the thick dwaven accent belonged to a dwarf; Daniel Stoutbelly. "All ah need is a gud ol' Dwarven gun, and Stickehpaws!"  
The small hand grabbed at the wolf's fur, pulling and tussling in affection. Stickypaws, the wolf, let out a low, tired growl in affection.

They were all silent once more, the howling wind speaking volumes on their own thought.  
"The other human. The tenth member. Why does he not sit with us?" Auchnaea asked.

It was, unsurprisingly, the paladin (the arch enemies of darkness and evil), who answered.  
"He is one of the Lich King's creations. A death knight. He has committed atrocities that we could not conceive of, all because of the one that we strive to kill." At the mention of death knights, the only one present, Zayn, began to walk back to the group.  
"Everybody should keep an eye on him, lest he return to the control of the Lich King."

"Paladin," Zayn spat as he arrived, more than a little annoyed. "You do not understand. You cannot comprehend the series of events that transpired since my death. You would not believe these things... As such, it is with impunity that I beseech you thusly: do not comment on that you do not understand."  
The Paladin shook his head.  
"Do you know how many are dead, how many families are broken, because of you?"

"We must start with myself then. I followed the Dark Prince. A veteran of the second and third wars, I was his personal bodyguard. I was there when he culled Stratholme. I was there when he slew Mal'Ganis - one you have probably not heard of. I was there when that... accursed blade took his soul and mine."

Samuel stood up, hand finding mace.  
"Death knight: you say you were there? Why did you not stop him from claiming the blade? Or from slaughtering those innocents? Or raising the dead?"

Zayn motioned for his undead steed to join him. Slowly, it cli-clopped over to stand by it's masters side and nuzzle at his gauntleted hand.  
"Tell me, you stand by the light? What is it that drives you?"  
It did not take a moment for the Paladin's response; like a bat out of hell, he had already loaded and fired one word into the death knights face. "Righteousness."

"But is it?" Mused the death knight. "Is it truly righteousness that drives you? I was a warrior then. I felt the light touch me throughout my existence. But like all men, like all those with wills; I was corruptible."  
It might have been a funny sight for the party to behold if it was anything short of creepy or bizarre: a man with plate armour adorned with skulls pouring his heart out while crooning and petting a skeletal horse.

"Her name," he said, motioning with his free hand to the horse, "is Loyalty."  
She whinnied happily at that.  
"You are a learned man," he continued. "You must know something on the old ways of Lordaeron. Why did I name her that?"  
Bintar answered instead.  
"It was an informal tradition in Lordaeron. Naming steeds after qualities that were desirable or, depending on age, present in warriors."

The first response was a dry, humorless smile under the helmet.  
"Correct. I was a loyalist to Lordaeron. I would do anything to protect her and her children. I did."  
"Like what?" It was the younger gnome that asked this time, having little tact.  
"I followed Prince Arthas down a dark path on those days. I have sworn an oath to his father, you see. I was to protect him as best I could."  
The warrior, who seemed to understand, offered advice. "You are not making much sense to the others, I fear."

"There was grain. It had been plagued by the Cult of the Damned. Only we had known about it, though, and it was distributed before we got there. When we arrived at Stratholme, it had already been baked and consumed by the residents."  
Absentmindedly, he fingered his sword hilt, as if doing so improved his memory. Staring into the dark night sky, he continued.  
"We faced a terrible decision that day. Cull the city, or have an army to face, controlled by the Dreadlord Mal'Ganis. Some objected: Uther, the Lightbringer. The Order of the Silver Hand was disbanded on that day. I was a fool. Pride and loyalty to a damned cause made me follow Arthas. Down the bridge. To the houses. There, we slaughtered them all. There, we confronted Mal'Ganis, the mastermind.

"We defeated him, but he issued an ultimatum and fled. We would find him in Northrend. There we would battle him. There, the Lich King would be waiting."

"... so what happened?" Tirasondrael was definitely enthralled by the story.

"We followed him. We took some of the Alliance fleet. We met into an Explorer's League expedition that had gotten lost. Headed by Muradin Bronzebeard, they had been in Northrend to reclaim lost weapons known as runeblades. When an overwhelming force attacked us, Muradin led us to Frostmourne. I remember..."  
He closed his eyes and dropped to a knee, before picking up a handful of snow and smelling it.  
"There were guardians. Not to keep the blade safe, no... but to keep the world safe... from /it/. Despite their pleas, we took up arms against them and entered the cavern. Arthas threw down his hammer, but the blade requested a sacrifice. Arthas decided that Muradin was a better choice than I. Being a blind, loyal fool had it's advantages on that day... I thought Muradin perished in that damned cave, along with the last vestiges of our humanity and sanity."  
Releasing the icy powder, the death knight murmured, "blood on the snow. So much... Blood..."

Stony faced, like the minions he commanded, Zayn stood.  
"That blade won us the battle, and took Mal'Ganis' life. There was nothing left for the prince and I. So we wandered."  
"And then what?"

Once again the death knight tussled at the mount's mane (what was left of it, at least).  
"Loyalty and pride took me to Stratholme. Loyalty and anger purged that city. Loyalty and vengeance led me to Northrend. Loyalty to a lost cause and a silly bond... It cost Terenas his life."

The frost could not touch him here, and the fact was evident across his implacable features. A resounding silence fell upon the group again. As if to prove a point, Zayn broke it.  
"You do but understand, Paladin. Every decision we made was tracked and watched. We were goaded down this path. At the end of one road, another tidbit would entice us to save our kingdom."

Samuel's fiery eyes caught Zayn's haunting, unnatural ones as he spoke.  
"What are you saying, death knight?"  
"I am saying, paladin," the answer was icy; it was obvious the two men had no love for each other, but there was something more behind this. "That if you do not watch your own every step, you will fall. You must be willing to kill, but you must not lose your humanity."  
An eerie laugh burst from the death knight unexpectedly, startling Auchnaea. The reverb and flange in his voice was evident; it was definitely a surprise that it didn't attract the attention of something out in the frozen wastes. As suddenly as it had begun, the laughing stopped, and the death knight was serious once more.  
"For things of a more... Questionable -hm?- nature: I am here. My soul has been scarred and shattered so many times that I would not recognize it; that is, if I ever escaped this endless torment to face my reckoning."

With that, he turned, and slowly disappeared into the freezing inky blackness. The steed however, lingered a moment.

Samuel glared at the thing with such anger it was almost pure. "Begone, beast," he hissed at it, and Loyalty recoiled slightly, whining unhappily. "Follw your master, you foul creation!" It reared up, and moved after Zayn at a canter. The group was silent while the paladin returned and pressed closer to the fire. Bintar summoned some sort of arcane shield that did wonders for keeping the wind off of them all.

"We should rest, but not for long. This is still scourged territory."

"I will keep an incessant vigil, paladin. My gaze shall be piercing and my eyes steeled," called Zayn, somewhere nearby in the terrible, icy plaguelands of Icecrown.


End file.
